Action

He left his comfortable job because he hadn't wanted to be ordinary and boring. Mission accomplished.

He looked down at the smoldering fire at the tip of the cigarette trembling ever so slightly in his right hand. The small white cylinder pincered between his middle finger and thumb. He saw all the fine details of it. The red glow of the ember peeking out from the grey ash at the tip. The white paper slowly turning black before transforming in the powdery ash that fell off the end in clumps. The transformation seemed fitting to him. In the end everything goes back to ash and dust. The smoke drifted aimlessly upward off the tip in the bright hot day. 

He lifted his bound hands and put the cigarette back in his mouth and took a deep drag with his chin slightly upward. He left it in his mouth, lowering his hands as he inhaled slowly. He brought his hands back up to his mouth and removed the cigarette, holding it firmly in a peace sign formed by the middle and index finger of his left hand. He chuckled a little bit as the smoked seeped from his lungs. The little bit of irony was not lost on him. 

Calmly looking at the men standing in front of him the smoker couldn't help but wonder what they would be doing tonight. Maybe they would be going on dates or just writing messages to loved ones. One or two of them looked nervous. They were probably 8 or 9 years younger then him. He hoped he didn't look that fidgety.

 "Hell" he thought to himself, "They're going to have to live with this memory a lot longer. Maybe they have a right to be more nervous".

Back home when he told people that he used to be a smoker he would sometimes share the one thing about smoking that her really missed. Smoking a cigarette in silence on a still quite day. It was immensely enjoyable to him to sit and think while he heard the dry tobacco pop and crackle ever so slightly every time he inhaled. 

He knew he really had no one to blame but himself. He left his comfortable job because he hadn't wanted his life to be ordinary and boring. Mission accomplished. If anyone were to write his story down it would make one hell of a good read. It probably would even make a good action flick. It would never happen though. People only like stories where the good guy wins. He hoped he was the good guy. In another story, told from a different perspective, he most likely wasn't. He was meeting his justified end as the protagonist continued on his heroic journey. 

He brought the cigarette back up to his mouth and took another drag. It was almost finished. He was almost at the filter. There would be no daring rescue. There would be no commandos rappelling down from helicopter as bullets and explosions rained down from the heavens like the wrath of god himself. Even if they had known where he was a raid to save him was too great a risk. In the grand scheme of the world he was  a disposable pawn. It was the fate he had assumed when he had put pen to paper and signed his life away. 

The silly idea of doing something humorous now crossed his mind but he dismissed it. He wanted to go out with a little dignity. Over the last few months they had stripped that from him but here was a chance to gain some of it back by dying with dignity and honor like the soldier he never was. 

He took one last drag of the cigarette tasting the acrid flavor of the fileter and flicked it away.  Acting most on instinct he temporarily forgot the importance of the act. Remembering himself he looked at the leader of the group and nodded his head. 

"Any last words?"came the reply

He shook his head. He didn't trust his voice. 

The man looked him in the eyes as he placed a black bag over his head. The bag instantly muffling and turning his world black. There had been no mercy or pity in those cold brown eyes. 

He heard the man walk away about ten paces, his boots making a slight noise on each step in the hard packed dirt. 

"Ready"

He could hear his heartbeat roaring in his ears

"Aim"

He could feel the very tips of his ears pulsing with every beat

"Fire"